


Seven Years Later (Discontinued for the time being)

by tigerfishy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Draco Malfoy, Adult Harry, After Hogwarts, Bottom Draco, Draco Feeling Sorry For Himself Like Always, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, HP: EWE, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Recreational Wolfsbane Use, Slow Build, Some angst, Top Harry, Werewolf Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4816466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerfishy/pseuds/tigerfishy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dust of war had finally settled over the wizarding world. Death eaters had been dealt with, and while not all wounds could be healed, the damage seemed out of people’s minds for the most part. The world had calmed down, though not all traces had been swept away. Fate sends Draco crashing into the one person he doesn't want to see, and he won't seem to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Firewhiskey and Broomsticks

**Author's Note:**

> I'm an absolute sucker for the werewolf Draco headcannon, and I also happen to enjoy it when him and Harry kiss. This is very thinly veiled self gratification, but hey, at least you get to see some boys touch each other and have feelings.

The dust of war had finally settled over the wizarding world. Death eaters had been dealt with (in one way or another), and while not all wounds could be healed, the damage seemed out of people’s minds for the most part. The world had calmed down, though not all traces had been swept away.

In a dark corner of wizarding England, out of sight and mind of any good wizard, one of those traces remained. Draco Malfoy was half asleep in the corner of a seedy bar. The scent of firewhiskey and cheap cigarettes tinged the air. Wizards the world had tried their best to ignore whispered amongst each other. The dim light cast dramatic shadows over their faces. The occasional clink of glasses and the steady murmur provided a soundtrack to the scene. Draco sipped elderflower wine out of a glass that hadn’t had a proper  
washing in weeks. He tried to put that out of his mind in his quest to become inebriated.

A witch with jet black hair and a permanent smirk slipped into the chair across from him. She placed two glasses of beetle berry whiskey in front of them. “Draco” she greeted.  
“Pansy. It’s been a while”. Draco replied, his voice betraying his surprise despite his best efforts to keep blasé.

“It’s been seven years”

“A while” he repeated. Pansy rolled her eyes, shooting down her whiskey without so much as flinching. She studied Draco’s face carefully, her own a portrait of thinly veiled annoyance. She leaned forward without breaking eye contact, and before Draco could pull away, pushed his left sleeve up to his elbow. He flinched away, but she grabbed his arm and held it there.

“What happened to you Draco.” She whispered

Draco didn’t reply, turning away so he didn’t have to look at her face. Right where his aunt and father had dark marks, he had a more disfiguring mark. Pink and white raised skin speckled his forearm, marring the flesh with clear bite marks. Pulling tight in some places and raising in others, it was quite clear what had happened. Draco cleared his throat after a while, and Pansy pulled back, recollecting herself. He once again met her eyes. They seemed sad.

“You knew what happened” He stated, finishing off his wine.

“I didn’t think—Draco we all heard rumors but I was your best friend, I thought you would tell me”

Draco let out a small, breathy laugh, reaching for the whiskey Pansy had brought him earlier. They were silent for a long moment.

“When” She queried 

“The summer before sixth year”

A rugged looking man set two glasses of liquor in front of them and hurried off. Draco and Pansy eagerly consumed them in record time, the tension in the air palpable. They weren’t making eye contact anymore. Whatever closeness they had had during their school years seemed to be slipping away. Even though after seven years they should have felt the divide already, it seemed obvious now. Finally, Draco cleared his throat.

“What are you doing here Pansy?”

“I came to see you”

“Why?” He met her gaze again, fighting the urge to flinch away.

“Half of wizarding England thinks you’re dead Draco. I needed to make sure they were wrong” She justified. He snorted at that, glancing around the bar.

“So you started here?”

“You’re not as good at hiding as you think. The only reason no one else has found you is because no one else is looking”

Her words stung a bit, but he knew she wasn’t lying. It was easier for people to think he was dead or gone across the world. Askaban didn’t sound like his ideal future, and neither did informing the ministry of his…condition. Despite all that had happened because of them, he wasn’t about to disgrace his family name any further. They may not get the Daily Prophet where his father was, but word of a Malfoy being anything less than a pureblood getting out would reach Lucius, locked in chains or not.

“Lycanthropes aren’t second class citizens Draco, it’s not shameful anymore” she said more gently. He shook his head.

“Maybe not to you, Pansy.”

The murmur of the bar was the only noise between them for a heavy minute. Finally, Pansy stood up, grabbing her bag.

“I’m glad you’re not dead Draco” She muttered.

Draco waved her off dismissively, and she walked away with a look on her face he couldn’t identify. It may have been pity.

“Lycanthrope” He mumbled to himself. “What a stupid thing to call it”. He examined his heavily scarred arm, still exposed. He could remember the origin of every mark. Fenrir Greyback had carved more than just a bite into his skin. The flesh had been torn off in places, pulled back. Scars marred his entire torso as well, speckling his chest like aching constellations. Each jagged white line or uneven patch of pink was a reminder. He sighed, pushing his sleeve back down. He wasn’t as upset about it anymore, not really. He certainly wasn’t pleased, living with his condition was difficult and unpleasant to say the least, but nothing was to be done. As much as he loved complaining, fear was a good motivator to stay silent.

Not everyone liked dogs.

He stayed to order one more drink—something stronger this time, before he made his way out. His apartment was two buildings down. He could have afforded something nicer, but everyone knew that. An extravagant mansion wouldn’t have made a very good hiding place.  
He could barely sum up the coordination to unlock his door, but he managed to stumble into bed. He threw himself down face-first. Seven years after the war had ended. Seven years after he had disappeared. Seven years since he had seen anyone from what seemed like a past life. He almost regretted letting Pansy walk away. Despite everything that had happened, she had been his best friend for a long time. She was one of the only ones who hadn’t ended up dead or in Azkaban.

He begrudgingly climbed underneath his quilt, and managed to close his eyes. When he fell asleep that night, he didn’t dream.

The sun shone through the window directly into Draco’s face. The morning, apparently, had a sense of humour. His hangover struck him like a freight train as he regained consciousness. His mouth was dry as bone and it felt like he had swallowed several bags of sewing needles the previous night. The sunlight didn’t do much for the headache that was quite firmly making its presence known. The sensation wasn’t unfamiliar to him, not much to do while living in seclusion other than drink and feel sorry for yourself, but it certainly wasn’t welcome either. He managed to find his wand—tucked neatly into his back pocket from the previously night by some miracle. With a swish, the blinds were closed and he could think without the distraction of pain. 

By no small feat, in a matter of fifteen minutes Draco was out of last night’s clothes and in the shower. The warm water soothed his aching muscles, rinsing away the grime of last night’s outing. He considered what he might do with the day as he scrubbed. Drinking was always an option, but he would still have to kill time before the bar opened up. Casual sex and other illicit activities held the same problems. He considered owling Pansy, but it was probably better he didn’t. At least not right away. Hiding from the world proved incredibly tedious. Toweling off, he settled on spending money on things he didn’t really need—that seemed to cheer most people up, he reasoned. He dressed carefully in semi-casual robes and tucked his wand back into his back pocket. 

The monotony of the day was already settling upon him. 

 

The town was filled with schoolchildren and their parents hustling around. The school year was still a few weeks away, but Draco supposed getting supplies a bit early of wasn’t a bad choice. He tried to keep his face down out of habit more than anything. No one would recognize him, even in Diagon Ally. The papers had stopped reporting on him quite some time ago. He stared at the window displays as he walked past each shop. Everything from cauldrons to owls had been put on display for the season, which made him roll his eyes. There wasn’t much he needed with standard school supplies, and he certainly wasn’t about to find a new owl.  
Twillfit and Tattings boasted their most recent line, though all the robes seemed to be for witches. Quality Quidditch Supplies seemed interesting at first, but nothing new appeared to be in their display. Finally he paused at Broomstix. A pang of nostalgia shot through him as he laid eyes on the broom in the window. The Nimbus 2001 was polished to shine, sitting under newer and better brooms. It was being sold as vintage, which seemed ironic for some reason. He almost laughed, and he almost felt sad. He would have done something at the very least, had a man not collided with him running full speed. 

As soon as he was struck he felt himself tumbling to the ground. He laid there for a brief moment, before the other seemed to realize what happened. 

“I’m so sorry!” the man nearly shouted, rushing over to help Draco up. They locked eyes before he got a chance. 

“Potter?”


	2. Wand Shops and Sofas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't really expecting interest in this, but since you've all been so sweet I suppose I'll actually have to write it now.

“Potter?” Draco nearly shouted. He stared at the hand being offered to him in disbelief. 

Harry stared back, his eyes wide as saucers. They were both perfectly still, as if they were afraid to breath. A wizard walked past and almost tripped over Draco, snapping him out of his apparent trance. He scrambled up, ignoring the still outstretched hand. He eyed the other wizard cautiously. It was probably too late to just walk away and pretend they hadn’t seen each other. Draco cleared his throat loudly, raising his eyebrows at Harry, trying to pry out a greeting or something of the like. 

“Malfoy” Harry almost whispered, suddenly realizing his hand was still reaching out and withdrawing it with some sheepishness. He smoothed his robes in an attempt to compose himself. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping” Draco shot back, wincing at how harsh his words sounded. This was already bad, no need to upset the Auror that could toss him into Azkaban without trial if he wished. He wanted nothing more to turn tail and run back to his tiny apartment and never leave again. 

Harry scoffed in apparent frustration, running his hand through his hair and latching onto his bottom lip. He seemed to contemplate for a moment. Somewhat abruptly, his face seemed to turn to contort to one of concern. He glanced around, seemingly becoming aware of the attention they were drawing. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed Draco’s sleeve and dragged him off into the nearest alleyway, not leaving Draco much time to protest, despite his best efforts. Harry looked around to make sure no one was around. Draco swallowed hard, hoping the other man wasn’t planning on killing him right there. 

“You can’t tell anyone you saw me” 

Draco stared. That wasn’t what Harry was supposed to say. 

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that” Draco replied slowly, his utter confusion quite clear. 

Harry stared at him in disbelief. 

“You don’t… You don’t know?” 

Draco shook his head. The tension was palpable, but his shoulders were starting to back down from his ears. 

Harry let out a shocking laugh. He quickly clamped his hand over his mouth, but his shoulders were stilling bouncing. Draco stood there quite stunned, beginning to back away until Harry grabbed his cloak and he was stilled instantly. 

“I’ve been in hiding for three years Malfoy”. He was still shaking off the last of his laughter, his face brightened considerably. Draco said nothing, trying to process the information and the sudden easy demeanor Harry seemed to have adopted towards him. Harry seemed to recognize how uncomfortable he was and removed his hand. His tone grew more serious, sobering from his brief moment of jollity. 

“I know we’re not on the best of terms Malfoy, but you have to promise to keep quiet.” It seemed like he was asking for a favour, but his tone implied more of a threat. Draco couldn’t understand what he was asking. The Saviour was asking him to keep quiet? Since when did he have anything to run from? 

“Potter I haven’t spoken to anyone of repute in seven years”. That wasn’t exactly true of course, he had seen Pansy just the other night, and he exchanged letters with his mother on occasion, but the less Harry knew was probably better. He wasn’t really lying either—Pansy and his mother weren’t really known to be reputable witches anymore. “Moreover, why are you in hiding in the first place, what reason does the boy who lived have to run away from all his adoring fans?” he continued somewhat bitterly, regaining his confidence.   
“Being a figurehead wasn’t for me” Harry shot back dismissively. “It doesn’t matter anyway, you’re in a tougher boat than I am if I remember correctly”. He raised an eyebrow at the blond. Draco huffed, but he couldn’t really deny it. 

“You’re not an Auror anymore Potter” Draco supposed he didn’t really know that, but he hadn’t seen Harry on the cover of Witches Weekly in some time, and if Harry had supposedly gone into hiding, it wouldn’t make much sense for him to keep a high profile job with the ministry. In any case, it seemed to knock away some of Harry’s bravado, and that was really all he wanted. Harry tugged at his hair, breaking eye contact and focusing on the ground. Finally, he took a deep breath in and a step towards Draco. 

“Just, let me buy you a pint first” he sighed 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’d rather not” 

“I’ll start shouting” 

Draco bit his lip in frustration. 

“Fine.” 

Despite all indication otherwise, seeing Potter came as somewhat of a relief. Seeing Pansy had left him unsettled. His entire life could be divided into “before” and “after” now. Before and after the bite; after sixth year, before the war. After leaving home. Pansy seemed like the war hadn’t changed her at all, she had made him feel nervous, as if he couldn’t be sure if he was really in the after. Harry was clearly changed, and despite the events of the past, that made Draco feel much better. Harry’s rough stubble and unkempt hair seemed fitting enough, but the muscles and slightly soft belly suggested by the shape of his robes seemed different enough that it didn’t feel like they were kids. It was comforting in a strange way. 

They walked quietly through the crowded streets, Draco’s hood pulled up once again. Harry gave him a strange look, but didn’t comment. They made a sharp right turn and Draco was almost knocked down for the second time that day. They stopped walking, and Draco raised a brow at Harry. 

“Potter, I know dying and coming back did some damage to you, but this is Ollivanders.” 

Harry said nothing and knocked on the door three times quickly, and then once after a moment. The door swung open immediately, revealing not the tiny wand shop but a somewhat larger pub. It was more well lit and clearly cleaner than Draco’s regular haunt, but the lack of shouts and much too loud music made it quite clear the pub wasn’t populated by the most reputable wizards either. No one turned to look at them as they entered. The door slammed closed behind them, making Draco jump. His shoes were sticking to the floor despite the more sanitary appearance of the bar, and he let out a quiet noise of disgust. Harry didn’t seem to take notice and led him towards a booth in the corner of the pub. 

As they settled themselves into the somewhat tattered seats, an elderly wizard who seemed to be coated in a thick layer of dust appeared. Harry held up two finger and the old man nodded as he hobbled off. Draco would have felt guilty about letting him serve them had he been a better person. Harry stared uncomfortably at Draco, as if his illusion of power was evaporating right there. He fidgeted in his seat. Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Well?” He prompted “Aren’t you going to tell me your sob story?” 

Despite the harsh tone, he was actually curious. The fact that he hadn’t been arrested yet, while reliving, was still quite shocking. 

Harry let out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head. 

“I know we saved each other’s lives before the war ended, but I don’t really think we’re at the level where I share my personal life with you Malfoy”.

The memory of the fiend fire Harry had pulled him from sat uncomfortably in Draco’s stomach. Harry probably felt the same way—there was really no way to talk about the gestures they had preformed when they were younger. I wasn’t really out of the ordinary to not want to murder one’s schoolmates, but being on different sides of the war the gestures seemed out of place. 

“Then why am I here” He forced out 

“Because you saw past my Notice Me Not” 

Draco nodded curtly. It was a difficult spell to keep up, but it would certainly explain Harry’s lack of concern about being noticed in Diagon Ally during shopping season. He had tried to cast one on himself initially, but it seemed like his wand never really recognized him after Fenrir Greyback. It didn’t respond the way it used to, complicated magic became almost impossible. 

“You bumped into me Potter, that’s hardly unusual” 

“Just, you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone. I know you don’t owe me anything, but you have to anyway” 

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm buying you a drink and asking nicely" Harry seemed sincere. 

Draco rolled his eyes. It wasn’t as if he was going to risk his own life trying to get some petty redemption anyway. The old wizard creaked up to their table with two pints, setting them down with a nod. After the day he’d been having, Draco downed it as quickly as he could. Harry and him were apparently done speaking. He didn’t quite remember what happened after that, just that he let Harry buy him a few more drinks.

The next day, when he woke up on an unfamiliar sofa, he realized it may have been more than a few.


End file.
